


Eclipse

by throttlegainwell



Series: Circadian [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase Two Compliant, Rape Aftermath, Reunions, but really mostly comfort here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throttlegainwell/pseuds/throttlegainwell
Summary: Sam Wilson has been keeping it together since Steve Rogers went missing.





	Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> This is half coda to [Daybreak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766758/chapters/34149101) and half a pause for breath before the sequel. The tags are me being conservative; technically this takes place in the aftermath of those things, but none are addressed here. The story that precedes this one, however, is HTP and extremely graphic and disturbing, so if you haven't read it but know you don't want to or are unable to read anything that heavy, just skip that one.

An unexpected knock at the door rarely preceded anything good. Coming at mid-afternoon on his one day off, while he’d been trying to lightly doze on his couch after deep-cleaning the house since an old nightmare had woken him around four, Sam was especially disinclined to get up and answer it. But that voice in his head, the one that sounded an awful lot like the overlapping echoes of his mother and his aunt, had him swinging his legs around and slapping his socked feet onto the floor before he could so much as curse in frustration. He’d been just about out for a minute there. It’d be rude, though, to leave the bad news waiting. Best to just see what it was.

He was naturally laid-back and had been trained to stay calm in all kinds of situations, so he was pretty good with surprises. It was one of the skills that had served him best. Still, when he opened the door to find Steve Rogers, pale and sweating bullets, clutching the doorframe to stay upright, he swore the air blue with shock. 

Sam immediately reached to steady him, slipping an arm under one shoulder and hauling him to his side. That’s when he noticed the dark-haired white guy keeping his distance at the edge of the porch. “Jesus, Steve, where the hell have you been?”

The unexpected lightness of Steve’s frame was almost as alarming as the way he panted his answer. Sam had seen Steve perform a lot of physical feats, but until that moment, he’d yet to see him truly taxed.

“I’ll explain later.” He clutched Sam’s arm in weak fingers, the fixed grimace on his face morphing into a strained smile for just a second. “It’s good to see you, Sam.”

“Shit, man, you shouldn’t’ve knocked. You shoulda just come in.”

He shook his head. “Can’t just walk into someone’s house.” He looked pointedly at the table Sam kept a small knife stashed under. “And I don’t have a key.”

Sam scoffed. Being prepared didn’t make him paranoid. “You can when you’ve been missing for two months and you show up looking like what the dog brought in.”

He helped Steve inside, uncertainty filling him as he waved the other guy in, too. He hadn’t introduced himself, but leaving him on the front steps seemed unwise. Besides, if Steve trusted him in this vulnerable a state, that was good enough for Sam. And Sam could handle himself just fine, if it came to that. He started moving them toward the nearest chair. 

Steve shook his head. “You mind if I use your shower real quick?”

He paused, looking Steve over again. And now that shock wasn’t buzzing through his body, his other senses were beginning to take stock. Maybe a shower wasn’t the worst idea. “Course not.” 

He led Steve to the kitchen instead, leaning in to kiss him, heedless of the way he completely reeked. The consequences of two months of worry crashed down at his feet. Relief was spreading all throughout his body, warm and overwhelming and exhausting, chasing away the last traces of the restlessness that had been dogging him since he’d woken up gasping for breath. 

Steve turned his face away. “Later.”

Sam tried not to read anything into that. He wanted to grab him again and run his hands all over, prove he was real and there and _safe_. Wanted to never stop touching him. But he wasn’t getting a whole lot of vibes in that direction. In fact, after that initial contact, Steve seemed to want space, holding himself stiffly and trying to fold himself smaller. Sam didn’t tend to get lost in the Captain America mythos much anymore, but it tugged at his heart all the same to see the big, imposing guy he’d come to know looking so lost in his kitchen. 

“There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink,” he said instead, turning away to study Steve’s companion instead. “And you left some clothes here last time. You want me to get them?”

Steve nodded, leaning against the counter. 

Sam tapped his fingers on his thigh, watching them for an extra beat before he left. There was something unsettling he couldn’t quite pick out, something in the air. When Steve had disappeared, he’d pulled out all the stops looking for him, reaching deep into every contact he had left, but nothing had turned up. He’d even approached Steve’s colleague, Natasha, and the way her normally cool exterior had turned strained and worried around the edges had scared him more thoroughly than Steve’s radio silence. Having the man in his kitchen, looking rough but basically okay, was surreal. 

And that guy, the way he kept dancing around them, constantly adjusting his position relative to Steve’s, careful to never end up behind Steve and staying at arms’ length, that was weird. The weather was a little on the warm side for the shabby coat he was wearing, but not enough that it was suspicious. Still, Sam knew that it had to be hiding weapons. Even if his posture and gait hadn’t proven that he was carrying, Sam could always tell. He had a sense for trouble. Didn’t always help him make the right decision about it, but still. At least he was honest with himself about it.

He looked familiar. It nagged somewhere at the back of Sam’s mind, the feeling that he’d seen this guy before.

Steve smiled again when Sam handed over the clothes, a small, tight thing that didn’t look right but still looked grateful. “Sam, this is Bucky. Yes, that Bucky. Bucky, Sam.” He turned to Sam. “There’s a story here that’s as long as you probably expect. Trust me that I’ll tell it later, please?”

Sam nodded, unable to form words as he watched James Barnes -- _the_ Bucky Barnes, the one who was supposed to have died decades before Sam was even born -- take a seat at his table. The coat came off, revealing a uniform that he could see immediately why they’d covered up, an armory, and a prosthetic arm leagues more advanced than anything Sam had seen. 

“I’ll just be a little while.” But he hesitated as he turned to leave.

Sam pushed himself away from the counter, already moving in Steve’s direction before he could think about it. “You need help? You look like you’re gonna fall over any minute now.”

Steve held up his hands. “No, I just…” He glanced up at Bucky. 

“He doesn’t want to leave you alone with me,” Bucky supplied. His voice was flat, revealing no particular feelings one way or the other on the matter. “He doesn’t want to say it because he feels guilty. But he shouldn’t.”

“Buck--”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll sit right here and wait. Try not to worry.”

Steve winced. There was a crease in his brow, an unhappy set to his mouth, and a twitch under his eye that Sam had never seen before. It was very clear that it wasn’t just his physical limits he’d been pushed to the brink of. 

“Go,” he said, trying to inject some assurance into his voice that he didn’t really feel. “Holler if you need anything.”

He sighed, shooting Sam a look of such pure gratitude that it had him reeling. There was definitely a story, between the ill-fitting uniform that he’d clearly stolen, the major hitch in his step, the bruises on his face and throat -- oh, and not to mention Bucky fucking Barnes -- but until that moment, Sam hadn’t really grasped the full weight of whatever had clearly happened to Steve. He’d been walking around with numb, leaden feet and a head full of nightmares since he’d realized that Steve hadn’t just left on a mission and something was very wrong. Steve had a lot of enemies, and he was a very visible guy, so the horror scenarios rolled through his mind like a twenty-four hour cable news channel. But seeing the evidence was different. He wasn’t just _not here_ this whole time. He’d been somewhere else, and that somewhere else …

“Steve,” he said just before the guy disappeared through the doorway. “It’s damn good to see you, too.”

Steve nodded, already staggering away and snagging a garbage bag on his way out.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the counter. It had been hard to drag his attention away from Steve, situational awareness be damned, but with him out of the room, he studied Barnes. He could use a haircut and a shave, but he was clean and in much better shape than Steve. The clothes fit and looked right on him. Probably his. He sat stiffly at first, staring straight ahead. Before long, though, he’d collapsed back into the chair with a weariness so deep, he looked ready to sink through the floor and not stop until he hit the water table. 

“So,” Sam tried. 

The shower started up in the other room.

Barnes slowly rolled his head in his direction. It was hard to say if he was avoiding eye contact or just not quite making it, but Sam had the sense that he was being studied as well. “So.”

“Bucky Barnes, huh.”

“So he tells me.”

That didn’t bode well. “You’re looking pretty spry for a guy I know is Steve’s age.”

“How old is that?”

He raised an eyebrow at the smart-ass remark before he realized that Barnes was dead serious. Barnes finally looked at him head-on, mild and politely curious. 

His back straightened as he examined Barnes with fresh eyes. What he’d taken as exhaustion was starting to look an awful lot like the heaviness of defeat; of sadness so deep that you couldn’t even really feel it anymore, so you just let it hang from you like loose chains. That weight was palpable, filling the room now that he’d seen it. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

“What’s Steve told you about how he ended up in the future?” he asked instead.

Barnes shrugged. “Nothing. Until last week, I didn’t realize he didn’t belong here. That I don’t belong here.”

“Steve belongs here,” he said, maybe with a bit more bite than he needed to. “He’s from somewhere else, but he belongs here now. He has a life here.”

Several tense moments passed before Barnes answered. “I know he does. He’s told me a little about it.”

“What’s he told you about me?”

“Not a damn thing. Didn’t know about you until he brought me to your door.” 

Sam wasn’t a terribly over-sensitive guy, but he couldn’t help being a little disappointed that Steve hadn’t said a word about him to his old friend. He tried to keep it off of his face, but Barnes must have seen it anyway. 

He shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. He was doing you a favor. The fact that he never let slip you exist means he cares about you an awful lot.”

He had the sense, as Barnes continued to watch him openly, that he was being sized up. It didn’t seem challenging, but it was calculating in a way that was striking after the passivity and borderline blankness of before.

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed at Barnes’ insinuation. “What happened to him?”

A wave of something moved across Barnes’ face, too quick to parse, but it looked like he’d tasted something sharp and bitter. “I’m not the person to be asking that. I’m really not.”

Sam sighed, checking the clock over the stove. Steve had been in there for twice the length of his usual shower routine already. He thought about knocking on the door and checking on him, but Steve was a grown man. If he needed something, he’d call. 

“Are you okay?” he finally asked. He hadn’t given much thought to Barnes’ condition, and now he felt kind of guilty about that. “Do you want some water? I got juice in the fridge.”

Barnes started to decline, but then he changed his mind. He started to rise, but he froze halfway out of his seat and slowly sank back down, explaining, “I promised Steve I would sit here and not move.”

“I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind.” He got the orange juice anyway, adding, “He’s not that literal.”

“He trusted me to stay here. I don’t want him to come back and see me doing something else.”

“Uh huh.” Sam got a glass down from the cabinet in silence, thoroughly unnerved and confused. “Whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Barnes said as he accepted the glass. “Sam.”

He drained half of it in two gulps, then sipped the rest, drumming his metal fingers on the table as he thought. Abruptly, he turned to face Sam again. “Steve has information that he needs to get to someone. He didn’t tell me who. Something very big is happening that puts a lot of people in danger. Steve wants to stop that. He can’t do it alone.” He paused. “I don’t know if he can do it at all. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Steve’s the toughest guy I know. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

Barnes’ nostrils flared as he blew out a loud breath. He turned away and didn’t speak again. 

So he’d been dismissed. Alright, then. He drifted closer to the doorway, still debating on seeing what was taking Steve so long. He was about to knock before he realized that the door hadn’t been clicked shut. It was open a few inches, thick steam billowing out, carrying the scent of that heavily perfumed soap Sam had bought accidentally and meant to get rid of because the smell was overwhelming to Steve’s senses in a sickly chemical way. Steve had been polite as always, but he’d kind of hated that stuff, so why had he dug it out?

Normally an open door was an invitation, but he didn’t think that was the case here, so he knocked instead. Maybe he was just so exhausted that he’d forgotten to close it. “Steve, you okay? Been in there a while.”

Steve took so long to answer that he’d almost given up before he finally heard his voice, quiet and strained, over the water pounding the tiles. “It’s fine. The water’s nice, and I got distracted. Sorry, I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Nah, take your time. I was just worried you’d passed out or something.”

“Getting there,” Steve said, “but not quite yet.”

Sam went back to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed, slid his palms around to squeeze his head and rub his fingers into his scalp. He’d had a lot of late nights this week. A lot of late nights in general since Steve had disappeared. 

“You drink coffee?” he asked Barnes as he set the canister on the counter and turned to the sink.

Barnes hummed. “Don’t know. I guess I probably had it before.” After another beat, he said, “I’ll try it.”

He held out his glass for Sam to rinse, looking oddly apologetic but still not moving. Sam leaned over to snag it, switching the water to hot. “What do you remember?”

“I remember that I knew Steve.”

Not _I remember Steve_ , Sam noted. He remembered that he’d known him, intellectually. That was … interesting. Not in a good way.

“But you don’t remember him, do you?”

“Not a lot. Little things. Some of the things he’s said feel true, but I don’t have context or remember them for myself.” Quietly, almost to himself, he added, “It feels right, being near him. Like something in me remembers, almost.”

Then why was he so careful to keep his distance, was what Sam wanted to know. He didn’t seem to mind Sam being near him, so it wasn’t a personal space thing. It was almost like … he was being careful, ultra careful around Steve, like Steve was the unpredictable one who needed watching. 

He plugged in the percolator and pulled out his other chair to flop into. “So … amnesia. Like a head injury?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“But you’re the real Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve thinks I am. He has for a while.”

“A while,” he said slowly. He scratched his chin. “Were you with him this whole time?”

“Sort of.”

“It’s complicated, right?”

“More than you can realize.”

“But you can’t tell me.”

“If you love Steve,” he said, suddenly grave and intense, “you’ll let him tell you in his own time. And if he doesn’t want to talk about it, you’ll leave it at that.” He started fidgeting, shifting in his seat. “It should be up to Steve. Only he has the right.”

Sam splayed his hands in front of him. “Whoa, hey, of course. Boundaries are important. I get that.”

Barnes kept staring at him, something fierce and pointed in his eyes. “Do you love him?”

Sam was struck a little numb with shock at the directness of the question. The percolator gurgled behind him while he thought. “You know we just met, right?”

Barnes huffed. “Do you?”

Something in Sam softened. He didn’t know what had happened to Barnes either, but even though he looked better physically than Steve, it was becoming clearer by the minute that he’d been through something unimaginable. “I do. We haven’t been seeing each other that long, but we just clicked, right from the beginning. He’s … something else.”

“He is.”

The water shut off just as the percolator stopped bubbling, effectively ending the conversation. Sam was left kind of dazed, honestly. He didn’t know what to make of this guy, detached one minute, fiercely invested the next., claiming he didn’t remember Steve and barely remembered his own identity. Somehow, he wasn’t really surprised that even a Bucky Barnes who barely remembered Steve still wanted him safe. 

This was not what Sam had expected this morning when he’d rolled out of bed and pulled on his rubber gloves to clean. 

Steve emerged a few minutes later wearing the clothes Sam had brought him and carrying the garbage bag he’d taken, full now. It was immediately clear that his clothes fit very differently from the way they had when he’d left them there. The shirt had been a little tight across his chest, but now it was sort of loose, fluttering slightly as he moved. Sam abruptly wanted to feed him everything in the fridge, then had to wonder if it was safe for him to eat or whether he’d need to resume normal meals slowly. He wasn’t skin and bones, but he definitely looked half-starved considering what was normal for him. 

There were deep purple smudges under his eyes, almost black, and below that an ugly bruise on one cheek and a less obvious one on the other. He hadn’t shaved. His lips were badly chapped, like he hadn’t had water for days, the kind of cracks that took days to heal even after you got some fluids into you. 

Sam shuddered, remembering that feeling from his deployment, the dryness and thirst. It stuck with you. He immediately rose and pulled the jug of water from the fridge. He grabbed one of his regular glasses first, then put it back and got a smaller, lighter cup. 

Steve dropped the bag on the floor and ambled over to Sam, pulling him into a much tighter hug than the one from before. Sam set the cup down quickly and grabbed him back almost as tightly, smoothing his hands up and down his spine. 

Steve had left a bottle of shampoo at Sam’s place so he wouldn’t go through Sam’s good shampoo, seeing as how their hair routines were a bit different. But with Sam’s nose pressed into Steve’s neck, he could smell the shea butter of his shampoo clear as day, even over that perfumed soap and what smelled like half a tube of toothpaste. Steve smelled like him. He thought maybe it was on purpose, but he said nothing. 

Steve’s fingers curled into his shirt. “I really have missed you,” he whispered. 

Sam squeezed him a little tighter. He wanted to melt into the embrace, but now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time for him to be the sturdy, dependable one. God knew Steve had been that for him enough times. He’d never seen Steve like this before, but he had to believe that he’d be okay.

When Steve pulled back and slipped his arms out from under Sam’s, he realized why the hug had felt different. Steve normally went high, wrapping at least one arm over Sam’s shoulder. He’d tucked both of them under Sam’s this time, barely lifting them. As he observed Steve like a hawk, it became obvious that Steve was moving his shoulders as little as possible. It was hard to say if it was from pain or he just didn’t have the mobility, but that was going to warrant a conversation later. It took a lot to truly impede Steve physically for more than very brief periods. That didn’t bode well at all.

And there were thick bandages on both wrists. Steve knew where he kept his very well-stocked first aid supplies, so it wasn’t a big deal, but he’d have helped if Steve had asked.

“Can you stomach a cup?” he asked, picking up the pot after he’d poured Steve some water and stuck the cup in his hand. 

Steve sipped from it before he answered. “I think so.” He sat gingerly in the chair Sam had vacated, mouth tight. He was twisted oddly, trying to keep both Sam and Barnes within view at once. He shot Sam a weirdly guilty look, like he’d been found out at something he’d planned to hide.

Sam pulled down three mugs. Normally he took his with just milk, but he needed the sugar. Steve tended to take his black. He was about to ask Barnes how he wanted to try his, turning toward him with his eyebrows raised in question, but Steve spoke up first.

“Touch of sugar, no milk.” He blinked hard and turned to Barnes. “Sorry, that’s how you used to always take it. Do you want something else?”

Barnes blinked right back. “No, that’ll be fine. I think.” He was looking at Steve like he was a puzzle with all the answers, if only Barnes could work it out.

Steve made to stand and take the coffee to the table, but Sam waved him back down. He brought the mugs to the table and went to grab the folding chair he kept beside the fridge.

“I imagine you had a chat,” Steve said, voice pitched low and casual, like the answer didn’t matter. Bullshit. Sam was well-versed in Steve-ese at this point, and he could tell the answer mattered quite a bit.

“Some,” he said carefully. “I’m still pretty in the dark, but I gather that your friend here has some gaps.”

Steve flinched, spilling coffee over his hand. He shook it out quickly, pulling it to his mouth to suck on his reddened fingers. Barnes watched him. Sam thought he looked concerned, but the moment Steve met his eyes, he paled slightly, narrowed his own, and put his hand back down. The whole thing happened so fast and made so little sense, Sam wasn’t sure where to begin, so he filed it away for later and let it go.

“He’s starting to remember,” Steve said, pointedly moving on. “Right?”

Barnes nodded. “I don’t know what else will come back, Steve. Maybe some. Maybe nothing.”

“But you’re _you_. That’s what matters.”

The rawness in Steve’s voice caught Sam off-guard, felt like a private thing. 

Steve sighed, running his hand through his wet hair. Sam had to wonder how he’d even washed it if he could barely lift his arms, but he wasn’t going to ask.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. 

Barnes coughed. “Do you want me to burn those?”

Sam followed Barnes’ gaze to the bag Steve had dropped on the floor. It dawned on him that it was full of the clothes Steve had been wearing.

Steve looked to Sam for permission to light a fire on his property. He didn’t have a fireplace, so he wasn’t wild about the prospect, but there was a small grill out back. He nodded and told Barnes where to find it, hoping he hadn’t just done something monumentally stupid. 

As soon as Barnes had left, giving Steve a wide berth, Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of what looked like crumpled slips of plastic. He quickly dropped them on the table and eyed them like they were venomous snakes. “Could I have a bag for these?”

Sam leaned over to open the cupboard under the sink and grab a sandwich bag. “What are they?”

“Nothing good.” There was an edge of something ugly in Steve’s tone, with a pinch of wariness that sounded unfamiliar and set off a chain reaction of unease in Sam. He took the back from Sam, turning it inside out to grab them, careful not to touch them with his bare skin. He sealed it meticulously, then hauled himself up to go wash his hands. 

They looked pretty mundane, but Steve didn’t spook over nothing. Some kind of drug, probably, the way Steve had handled them. He didn’t think they were outright toxic or Steve wouldn’t have just dumped them onto his kitchen table.

“What do you want to do with them?”

Steve squinted in thought. “Should probably have someone take a look and reverse engineer them, see what the hell they’re made of.” He sounded doubtful, like that was what he knew he should do but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to, and that alone set off warning bells. He shook his head. “No time for that now.”

He stashed the bag at the very back of the cabinet, behind the pipes, and sat at the table again. “I need to get in touch with Nat. Hydra’s still around and kicking, and they’re in deep at SHIELD, Sam. They’re going to kill people. We have to stop them.”

A chill ran through Sam, from his stuttering heart all the way down to his toes. Jesus. Hydra? That old terrorist organization Steve had fought back in the forties? He wasn’t shocked exactly -- with the Klan still recruiting every day, he knew very well that hate groups never really died, just went underground until they felt safe in the sun again -- but he allowed himself a moment to process the news anyway. Shit, if Steve had come back heralding warnings of Hydra … that was probably who had had him. And they were not fans of his. In fact, of all the people who wanted him dead, they might just be the worst. Steve didn’t talk about the war, but Sam had learned enough history to know what a thorn in their side he’d been. 

They wouldn’t just want him dead, if they got their hands on him. They’d want a lot more than that first.

The haunted look in Steve’s eyes was making more sense by the minute, a terrible, sinking kind of sense that made anger flare in Sam’s chest and sadness clench his gut. 

“She and I have actually gotten kind of close,” Sam admitted. “I can reach her without attracting a lot of attention.”

Steve was quiet for a long stretch. “I don’t want to drag you into this, Sam. You got out for good reasons. But I don’t have a long list of people I trust right now, and I know what you can do.”

“Steve--”

“You can say no. You don’t have to do this. You’re a civilian now.”

“Steve,” he said sharply. He clasped Steve’s hand in his, little scabs on his fingertips catching on Sam’s calluses. “You need my help. No better reason to get back in.”

Steve’s eyes widened for a second, and then, out of nowhere, he slumped forward and buried his face in Sam’s chest, his arms going around Sam’s waist to grasp his shirt again. He touched Steve carefully, uncertain. Steve didn’t ask for comfort, didn’t usually allow himself to have much of it. He was surprisingly casual with affection, but nothing like this.

This was pure, desperate need, something in Steve breaking open, coming loose. 

He wanted to touch him skin-on-skin, but the only real options he could reach were the back of Steve’s neck and the base of his spine, and neither seemed like good things to surprise him with right now. He settled for shifting a little awkwardly to reach the edge of Steve’s sleeve and stroke his arm with his thumb. Steve shivered, pushing closer.

“It’s been a long, long day,” he said as he pulled away finally. “I just need a few hours to sleep off this stuff in my system. Find Natasha.”

“Let me check you over first.” He was already reaching for Steve.

Steve shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a bed, just for a little while.” At Sam’s insistent look, he sighed. “Later. You can look me over later. Sam, I’m so tired, there’re two of you. Please.”

That got Sam moving. It was becoming distressingly clear that the fumes that had gotten Steve here were running out. It took him three tries to get up, and on the last one, Sam offered his arm and Steve accepted it. He helped Steve to his bedroom, pulling back the covers and moving out of the way for Steve to collapse into bed. 

Steve made himself comfortable, then pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it into Sam’s hand. A drive, looked like. He glanced up at Steve in question. 

“Just give it to Natasha,” he slurred. “Don’t open it on your computer. There was something on their system. Some kinda virus. I got what I could anyway. Natasha’ll know what to do with it.”

“Okay. You rest now. We’ll talk in a few hours.”

Steve’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. In a very small voice, he said, “Don’t leave, Sam. Please.”

Sam had already been planning to sit there next to Steve and watch him sleep like some kind of creep, half to keep an eye on him and half because an irrational part of him just couldn’t let Steve out of his sight again. But he nodded. “Of course.”

Sam reached to grab some files off of his bedside table. When he leaned back to get comfortable and open the one on top, Steve was already out. The smart thing was for Sam to take this opportunity to get some rest, too, considering how the next couple of days were likely to go down. He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t not keep watch. He thought it was a good sign that he wasn’t at attention, at least. That he could distract himself with work. 

He watched Steve’s chest rise and fall, his face totally slack. He pushed some wet strands of hair off of Steve’s forehead. Steve didn’t react at all, already down so far that he was gone to the rest of the world. Steve was as practiced as Sam at grabbing rest efficiently wherever he could, but he generally needed less than a normal person. Sam had never seem him pass out like that.

Part of him wanted to check on Barnes. For all he knew, the man had left. But Steve had asked.

He flipped to the back of the file, tracing his fingertips over the wings and already refining his plan to liberate them back into his waiting arms.


End file.
